If there’s one thing I discovered early in life, it’s that other people’s advice rarely works on me. I need to try things out for myself, learn through my own experiences, make my own mistakes. I couldn’t tell you how many times I said to myself, “Mum was right.” And if I had to count all the life lessons I learned the hard way, I’d be counting until next year.
Some lessons hit me like a lightning bolt, while others settled into my mind quietly and unnoticed — but all of them came from personal (and often painful) experience. Here are my seven lessons life taught me the hard way.
1. Grief doesn’t always arrive on time. Sometimes it sneaks in months or years later.
A couple of years ago, I went through the toughest, most traumatic relationship ending of my life. It was the kind of event that breaks you into a million pieces, and you have to rebuild yourself from scratch.
Yet after only a few emotionally dark days, during which I couldn’t function even on the most basic level of showering or eating, I forced myself back into a functional state. Moving to another city and temporarily taking care of my younger sister required such a presence of mind that was simply not possible unless I completely repressed my emotional pain. My body was in the deepest survival mode imaginable as I navigated my way around any feelings that threatened my ability to deal with everyday life.
It wasn’t until about half a year later — long after moving to a new city and after my sister went back to living with our parents — that I finally opened up to all the grief that I’d kept at bay for months. It came when the time was right — or maybe just when it decided I’d waited long enough.
2. Healing is not a straight line — and sometimes you relapse into old pain just when you thought you were free.
As I continued to grieve the end of that relationship and process the change that had upturned my life, there would come moments when it was suddenly a bit easier to breathe. When hope and happiness seemed more attainable, and I would even dare believe I’d find love again someday. Everything signaled my gradual but inevitable recovery.
Then suddenly, I’d find myself missing what I had lost — feeling lonely and convinced that nothing as good, pure, or real would ever come my way again.
It was infuriating, and I couldn’t help being angry at myself. I thought I was getting better, I would tell myself. I thought I was over it. How come I’m feeling this way again? I’m sick of it. When will this end?
It felt as though I was taking two steps forward, then one step back again.
It took me many such relapses and many instances of being furious with myself to recognize that healing isn’t linear. A path of recovery is rarely, if ever, straightforward, but we must keep walking it anyway if we wish to get better. And if we take two steps forward, then one step back, we’re still a step further than where we used to be.
3. Closure is a myth we invent to make letting go feel neater than it is.
I used to think there existed a simple recipe for closure: a cathartic act or event, perhaps, that would become the breaking point between “before” and “after” and lead you to say triumphantly, “I’ve moved on.” Then my belief shifted, and I thought closure acted in a stealthier way, creeping into your life in the dead of night and not making itself known until one day, over drinks with friends, you realize it’s been there for a while and you have no idea when it happened.
I don’t know if I believe in closure now, or even if we should seek it. Aspiring to reach closure has set me up for being disappointed with myself multiple times, when I thought I’d had it and then find myself missing a finished relationship or a happier period of my life.
Letting go is often painted as a graceful, final act — a clean break between chapters. But in truth, it rarely feels so tidy. We think of closure as a natural conclusion to our grief, but to me it’s proven to be an elusive, unattainable state. There is a ring of resolved finality to it that sounds like nothing I’ve ever experienced when letting go of truly valuable experiences. When I move on, I do it through an act of self-created acceptance after I’ve had my share of denial, tears, and grief while watching a good thing end.
4. Happiness isn’t a permanent state — it’s a fleeting visitor.
And of all the hard life lessons, boy, did I resist accepting this one.
There’s a very specific memory I have, of teenage me saying she wasn’t happy—because happiness, in her mind, had to be unwavering and absolute. By that logic, I had been unhappy for many years before that pronouncement and stayed unhappy long after.
Yet in the later years, when my youth maximalism subsided a little, I had so many brief moments of unmistakable happiness that denying its fickle nature would be nothing short of pigheadedness. The smallest thing, like a perfectly made oatmeal or a long kiss from someone you love, can be enough to spark the feeling, and its briefness doesn’t diminish its value. If anything, it makes it even more worth holding on to.
Recognizing that happiness is rarely here to stay for long can cultivate a deeper gratitude and appreciation for those precious happy moments.
5. You can make a decision that’s right — and still feel sad about it.
My best friend has recently been volunteering at an animal foundation, and fate would have it that she fell in love with a cat. Realizing that she was actually considering adopting him came as a surprise to me, since I knew the reasons that had kept her from taking in any pets. Yet she was discussing it with her partner and brainstorming out loud solutions to hypothetical pet-related problems when I came over for tea. I could tell she was really excited about the idea, and I won’t deny it, I kept my fingers crossed for everything to work out in her favor.
In the end, my friend decided not to go through with it. She couldn’t convince herself it was the right thing to do, given her current circumstances and upcoming plans. It was a heartbreaking decision, and she’s still upset about it. There were plenty of reasons not to adopt — the responsibility for another being and the need to ensure its comfort and safety during times she’d be away from home. But there was also one powerful reason in favor of it: she really, truly wanted to.
Making a responsible decision, the one that affects not only her, but also her partner and an innocent animal, is a sign of maturity many don’t have — though that’s a poor consolation to her right now. A strong moral compass is an invaluable thing to have, but choosing what’s right instead of what’s easy doesn’t always feel good at first. And that’s okay.
6. Your life may not unfold the way you imagined — and that doesn’t mean it’s gone wrong.
Another very specific memory of a teenage me — I seem to have a few of those — is how I had this unshakable belief that I’d author my first book by my early twenties, and my writing career would skyrocket from there.
Fast forward to my late twenties: there are no books published under my name, and instead, I started this blog. This couldn’t be further away from what I planned for myself when I was younger, and yet, I’m content.
Embracing the fact that life doesn’t always go as planned is key to continuously seeing value in the life you’re living. When we surrender to the uncertainty of how our life will turn out, it helps us feel at peace, because we’re anchored in what is rather than what we think should be. However extraordinary the life we imagined, it isn’t real. The life we’re actually living is the one that holds meaning and value.
7. You will outgrow places, people, or versions of yourself — and that is not a betrayal.
This thought sparks some resistance in me to this day, because in a way, it challenges my notions of loyalty, determination, and even patriotism. If I walk away from someone after years of friendship, wouldn’t that be equal to betrayal? If I have no sense of home attached to a country, isn’t that unpatriotic of me? And if I change my mind about what I want to do in life, what does that say about the seriousness of my long-term goals?
One of the most eye-opening truths I learned about myself is that I rarely give up on anyone or anything on a whim. If I don’t feel as certain about a person, a place, or an idea, that’s likely because of some changes unfolding within me, and not simply because I grew tired or bored. We’re drawn to what resonates with us, and since we’re constantly growing and evolving, it’s only natural that our allegiances change, too.
Accepting that I’m allowed to change my mind — about a person, a place, or myself—and disregarding what people might have to say about that was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to learn. Letting go of what no longer fits isn’t abandonment — it’s growth.
Choosing what’s right instead of what’s easy doesn’t always feel good at first. And that’s okay.
Life may not come with a manual, but experience has been my greatest teacher — even if the lessons were hard-won. Many of them were painful, many were difficult to accept, but perhaps the hardest truths are the ones that shape us into who we were always meant to become.
Leave a Reply